Fallen
by crazylittleelf
Summary: Post-ep for Safe, sort of. Peter/Olivia. WARNING: Character death. What if it hadn't been a dart gun?
1. Chapter 1

_1_

His hands are sticky, rust colored stains in the lines and under his nails. No amount of rubbing them on the blanket would make any difference.

He thinks back over the evening and wonders how he didn't see it coming, why he hadn't been wary of the simple joy of friendship, the hot rush of desire. Struck blind, he supposes, charmed by a sly grin and mischievous mind. It wasn't to be, not for him. Everything falls apart, falls to ruin, falls...

_2_

"I need any answers you can give me." Graver than usual when he addressed Walter. Devoid of emotion, hidden behind barrier after barrier. The briefest glance her way before Broyles strode from the lab, unwilling to remain. Unable.

The EEG sensors were pulling at his skin, snagging little hairs, heavy as stones. The lab smelled like blood.

Echos of words he had scoffed at, insanity he held at arms length before. "John would do it for me." Hopeful and determined, brave beyond reason. No hope here, though, nothing but vengeance that coiled beneath the numbness waiting, waiting. Her limbs had been heavy when he lifted her shoulders to let Walter jam yet another probe in the nape of her neck, her back sticky with blood that oozed sluggishly from the wound, perfectly round, perfectly centered over her heart.

Nausea washes over him.

He rubs his hands on the blanket again.

"Tilt your head forward, son."

Like biting aluminum foil, heat and pain skitters along his nerves. "Ah, god Walter, that's awful." The first needle bites at his arm, barely noticed in the swirl of dizziness. The second needle and things get surreal. More surreal. He shakes his head and regrets it instantly as the world attempts to buck him off.

"Walter." The man moves around the lab, adjusting equipment, muttering. "Walter?" Suddenly in front of him, pulling Peter up by his arm, movement disjointed as the drugs dig their claws into his mind.

"As long as possible... Walter, I mean it." Petulant like a child. He sways unsteadily before stepping into the tank. The old man's face grave as he nods, swinging the doors closed.

_3_

She's sitting on the bench by the pond. It's like before, only different. She looks gray, faded. The pond is smooth as glass and reflects the black sky. In the distance he can see a city burning. "Hey." It's ages before she looks at him. Surprised, but only for a moment. Nodding.

"I thought so, but I wasn't sure..."

"Sure about...?"

"Being dead. You shouldn't be doing this, Peter."

"You'd do it for me." She glances sidelong at him, smiles.

"Yeah." Her voice is soft and the word clipped. He's never been certain if that means she's scared or embarrassed. Not that it matters now, he thinks, and has to choke back a scream. She's watching him closely, blinking slowly. He shivers when he realizes that she's not breathing. Illusions can only carry so far no matter what kind of drugs are helping things along. Her eyes narrow.

"Are you hoping I'll get stuck in your mind like John did or are you afraid of that?"

He shakes his head and snorts with laughter. "Right to the point..."

"Don't have much to worry about, do I?" Her smirk is twisted with regret. "Peter?"

"I'm not sure. I... Olivia. I need you to show me. I need you to remember." He reaches for her hand again, just touching her fingers. She frowns in concentration, turns her hand so that it's holding his.

Dizziness, then he can see her driving, but it's more than seeing because adrenaline is coursing through him and he can feel the pull as she corners too fast.

Then everything shifts away to an arid hotel lobby and they're facing each other for the first time.

_4_

"Why here?"

"You were such an ass."

"You were lying to me, I think it was fitting behavior." She smiles at that, places her hand over his heart. Outside the hotel darkness is swirling like a living storm. The ceiling is blue glass and huge birds circle over head. The unreality of the place threatens to overwhelm him. He concentrates on her hand and finds that he can feel her feeling his heartbeat. She tries to make hers match, but it's too much effort.

"This is weird."

"Which part?"

"Um..." She laughs like she did in the bar where he understood that he was defenseless against her. "All of it. This can't be real." Pale green eyes desperate for reassurance, for a lie that's easier than the truth. Something he can't give.

"I'm sorry I was an ass."

"Sorry I got shot."

"Yeah, me too." He drags a finger along the back of her hand, tracing it over the length of her arm. Her skins feels weak, like he could press though it. He can see the wall behind her through the bones of her face. She's wavering away, like a mirage. "No... no!" Terror in her eyes now and she's grabbing for him and all he can do is slide his arms around her and whisper her name like a mantra. They're both falling and all he can hear is her voice, shrill with panic and distant as the stars.

She's squeezed her eyes shut but the tears are escaping anyway. "Olivia, think about somewhere else. Open your eyes. Olivia!"

_5_

The little office smells like dust and old paper. She looks miserable, staring at the desk. He remembers... He's supposed to bait her, then she'll tell him, trust him. He sinks into the chair ahead of schedule. Her cheeks are wet and her hands are shaking when she runs them through her hair. She notices that she's fading. Holds her hand up between their faces and meets his eyes through it.

"That's probably not a good sign, is it?"

He doesn't trust his voice just yet, shakes his head.

She swallows hard. "I don't really remember. I know I was going somewhere with Charlie, but I wasn't with him. I think I was following him. I was driving." She's rearranging papers on the desk, putting files back in their folders. "I don't know why I told you. It's not something... I never even told John."

"Thank you."

She looks up and her face is bleak. She seems more solid now and she opens her mouth to say something but they're jolted forward as the SUV hits the curb. Fight or flight wrestle desperately and she senses as soon as she hits the ground she's made the wrong choice. He's filled with her panic, tugged along as she bolts across the grass. Her heart is pounding in his chest and her pain is like a detonation at his back. She falls and the park dissolves under them.

_6_

He leads her to the bench, his hand wrapped loosely around her arm. Her eyes are intent on his like they were the first time around. He waits.

"You should be trying to get me to remember. There can't be much time left."

"I'm trying reverse psychology. It works with Walter."

"Peter..."

"We have time."

She slides her fingertips along his cheek, barely touching. Her thumb traces his lips and he nips at it playfully. She laughs, and he's amused that it's nervous, a blush spreading over her face. "Peter... We ca..."

He leans forward to kiss her before she can complete the word, sliding his lips along hers. Her hand moves farther, cupping the back of his neck, then up to dig into his hair. They're pulling each other closer, tongues warring and he doesn't remember her moving but she's straddling his lap. He slides his hands under the collar of her shirt and it shreds like paper and it all falls to pieces that swirl around them like leaves. He has both hands clenched in her hair and he moans her name into their kiss.

She shifts, leans her forehead against his as she guides him into her. His breathing is ragged against her throat as he licks her skin. They move against each other, slowly and time is jumping forward dreamlike and he's desperate to stop it, to slow it but she's rocking against him and he's pulling her hips down in a frantic rhythm and it's too much, and far too little, and the world shatters around them.

_7_

They're standing in the dark watching the SUVs barrel along. She's holding his hand, her fingers knotted around his, clinging hard enough to hurt. The SUV is over the curb and she's tumbling out the door. At his side she's sobbing, but the sound is growing fainter as the other her runs towards them. He flinches at the shot even though he's expecting it and she falls at his feet. His hand is clenched around nothing, nails drawing blood on his palm. She rolls over, the effort exhausting, meets his eyes for a moment that lasts an eternity and she looks up and sees them.

And he looks up and sees them.

_8_

His hands are dry. He rubs one on his thigh anyway before shifting the gun and repeating the motion.

The first one had been easy, that one left to Broyles and Charlie though he suspected neither took much satisfaction from the arrest. Information and justice are equally rare. The second had choked on his own blood in London. The third is eating his last meal in a cafe in Cairo. There would be no answers, he understood that. No satisfaction for him, either. She disapproves but makes no effort to stop him. Her sulking presence is welcome, reconciled to his madness as he is. Among the fallen pillars of his mind, Peter Bishop makes a home for himself in the ruins.


	2. Three

_---one_

Olivia shows up at her own funeral, tilting her head quizzically at the casket. "I'm not in there, you know."

She's dressed like she had been that last night, lacking only the pallor and the gunshot wound. She feels warm and real as she leans into him, craning her neck to get a better view around Broyles. He had been expecting her but the degree to which she is present is frightening.

At the time he thinks he covers the urge to run screaming remarkably well, but the worried looks he gets later from Charlie and Astrid certainly indicate otherwise.

_---two_

He fully expects to be cut loose after returning from Cairo.

Truthfully he expects to be arrested after returning from Cairo, but Broyles merely hands him a thick stack of files and asks that they be given to Walter. Told in a dry monotone to report in every few days and call if they need anything. Too stunned to reply, he'd nods and goes to the hotel to collect the good doctor.

It's remarkably easy to continue the work. He rages silently at how easily her loss is mitigated and feels a clawing panic at his own role as replacement.

_---three_

Fantasizing about her when she was alive was one thing; this is a new level of disturbing.

"Does this..." He waves his hand towards the tangled sheets, "bother you?"

"Why would it?"

"I didn't know if it would, since we never hooked up when you were alive and now that you're dead..."

She glares at him and disappears when he blinks. She doesn't like being reminded that she's dead. But she's not real and Peter knows that he doesn't like being reminded that she's dead and the phantom he summons doesn't like to remember because he doesn't like to remember.

_---four_

Peter is trying to work and Olivia is trying to irritate Peter.

Removed from the structure of her life she is obnoxiously mischievous. She's thumping one heel against the filing cabinet and he's trying to will her back to whatever corner of his mind she occupies when she isn't bugging the crap out of him when she gasps. He spins towards the door, trying to work out what would scare an imaginary ghost.

"No. Nononono." He rubs at his eyes, but it doesn't help with John anymore than it does with Olivia. "You can't be here. It's too crowded already."

_---five_

The two of them are quarreling over the remote like children. He curls onto his side. He's spent his life deliberately isolating himself and this latest insult from his traitorous mind is appalling. If they don't stop soon Peter's going to start shooting and see how real his mind is making them today.

He rolls over and roars at them. "Shut. Up. Can you shut up for five minutes? What is wrong with you today?"

Olivia blinks owlishly at him and John scowls. "Don't yell at her, Bishop."

He grabs the remote away from them and stalks towards the bathroom.

_---six_

He watches Walter closely now, as if he can find clues for how to deal with this acquired insanity. The old man's no help, though. He's learned to keep his secrets well, refusing to share even with his own blood.

Peter slips up more often than he'd like. Wrong verb tense, wrong time frame. Memories that are not his own crouching on the shelves of his mind with the rest of his life, sly impostors barely noticed.

Walter knows, that much he can tell. The old man stays silent on this matter, too, and for that Peter is eternally grateful.


End file.
